Mumford & Sons
Babel
Mr Agreeable
, November 20th, 2012 05:28

Here's a f***ing weather report. Right now, we live in the f***ing piss torrents of a perma-f***ing c***shower and in such a f***ing world, conditions have deteriorated to the f***ing point where f***ing Mumford And Sons can get to reach Number f***ing one on both sides of the f***ing Atlantic, with their faux, "Golly, wouldn't it be jolly to be poor, capering around the junkyard wearing neckerchiefs and being authentic" chic. Who buys this septic f***ing horseshit? Presumably the same f***ing thought-averse smegmaheads who drool about "Boris" being a bloody great bloke who we should make bloody Prime Minister because it'd be a bloody laugh. Docile f***ing wanktards!

Well, here's their latest f***ing album. And I have to admit, I'm surprised. I imagined it would represent the listening equivalent of scraping around the tenth circle of Satan's own anus with a f***ing mandolin plectrum – but actually, it's more like the f***ing twentieth. It is a growth on the left bollock of the testicles of f***ing pop. It is a rancified f***ing perversion of all that has gone under the name of folk. It is an obscenity ten times the magnitude of a bunch of f***ing public school drunks stealing a busker's cap and instrument as he strums away on the f***ing underground, poncing off with it and making £200 in an hour from passers by with their strolling f***ing renditions of Ralph McTell's 'Streets Of London'.

The vocals we can deal with in a f***ing sentence. Remember the f***ing old man shouting "HaROLD!!!" in Steptoe and Son? That, only ten times more f***ing whiney and self-pityingly parasitic. As for the instrumental arrangements, well, shit as the f***ing countryside is, they make it sound even worse with their f***ing nostalgia-for-rickets stylings – a thousand county fairs from Hellhole-On-The-Wold rolled into one, with cowshit redolence of f***ing yokels shoving f***ing greased pigs down the hill or racing their f***ing ramshackle, unroadworthy vehicles round barns steering with their f***ing toes!

Scrape all that dried out mucus-excrescence away, however, and what you're actually left with is, of all things, f***ing U2. Basically, it's a piece of piss for any foursome of gormlessly ambitious morons to make a f***ing mint in this day and age – whack in a few tremulously morose verses, then crank it right up for the f***ing chorus with some vaguely anthemic resolution in which the words "I will" invariably figure. Exhibit f***ing A! 'Ghosts That We Knew'. "I will hold on with all my might / Just that we'll be all right." (Of course you'll be all right, you rich c***s). Exhibit B! 'Hopeless Wanderer'. "I will call you by name / I will share your road." Oh, you'll agree to be seen in the f***ing street with me and address me by my f***ing name? Mighty f***ing big of you, banjo boy. Exhibit C! 'Holland Road'. "When I'm on my knees / I will still believe... If you'll still believe, I'll still believe". Exhibit D: 'I Will Wait'. They're constantly making out they're living in some hurricane ravaged f***ing shack on the edge of the woods and recasting their f***ing horniness as some sort of f***ing physical f***ing heroism! F***, if we needed that, we'd listen to absolutely everything f***ing Bruce Springsteen has ever recorded!

This po-faced, gale force f***ing guff is meant to have us punching the air but all it makes you want to punch is their f***ing faces, followed by a low one to their corduroy-clad f***ing bollocks! It's as empty as their f***ing bank accounts, monstrously, are f***ing not. "Let's live while you're young." What the f*** else are we supposed to do when we're young? Die under a hail of f***ing custards pies packed with ball bearings, as we f***ing wish you would?

It f***ing looks bad when a bunch of f***ing already well-to-do, poor-people-parodying arseheads are what laughingly passes for "indie" in this benighted f***ing day and age. But you know what? Even the f***ing clothheaded, social network addled, tight trousered, bumfluffed f***faces who pass for Britain's youth are eventually gonna wake up to how they're being f***ing financially screwed over by that top-hatted tossface Cameron and his retinue of incompetent, f***ing anus-faced public school fags. And when they do, f***ing Mumford And Sons are gonna be the first people the baying mob goes after. First, they'll take the f***ing fat one, shave off his f***ing pubic obscenity of a f***ing beard and stuff the clippings down his fatuous f***ing throat till he chokes. Then they'll take the rest of them and f***ing garrotte them one by one with their own f***ing banjo strings. In the name of all that's f***ing godly and c***ing decent and just, this has to f***ing happen! This f***ing afternoon! Do it! C***s!

Thing is though, whether he is a cunt or not probably doesn't matter to him.

I've always thought if I were wildly successful and everyone wasted their time hating on me I'd find it funny.

We'd do far better talking about how Rangda, Swans, Carlton Melton, The Thing, Oneida, Oren Ambarchi, Peter Brotzmann, Goat, Da Grynch, JK Flesh, Godspeed, The Melvins and Pharoah Overlord all released amazing records this year than we do slagging off some posh, crap band for being posh and crap. It was Keane before them, and after them there will be some other band.

Being into folk is so f***ing cool. You are so f***king counter culture. This review is a prime example why struggling folk artists shouldn't be allowed access to the Internet. Don't you have a poetry reading in a bookstore somewhere?

By the way, if anyone would like to read a more in-depth and less sweary Quietus article along the lines of the above that explains the myriad problems with Mumford & Sons, you could do worse than read this excellent piece from late 2011: Big Society, Little Hope: False Folk Culture In 2011. From the broom-wielding legions of Clapham to Alex James' cheese and Mumford & Sons, Joe Kennedy examines the current vogue for nu-folk whimsy and its links to Big Society rhetoric
http://thequietus.com/articles/07603-2011british-politics-folk-music

I always struggle with the question of whether it's a bands fault for exploiting a system that rewards cheap sentimentality and derivativeness, or society's fault for mindlessly lapping it up again and again. Part of me doesn't blame these guys for selling out and making their bones while they can - the music business is and always has been big commerce, while real art is made on the fringes. I don't know why this is still surprising to people.

I know you do - it's why I read this site. I also found the review funny. I very much include myself in the group of people who should know better than to slag off the conveyor belt of crap bands that gets paraded before our unconsenting eyes.

YOU GOT THIS TOTALLY FUCKING WRONG YOU KNOW WHY? THIS FUCKING HARD-ON IN MY PANTS IS WHY THIS BAND IS REAL. REALER THAN FUCKING REAL YOU FAKE FUCKS JUST DON'T KNOW BECAUSE YOUR FAKE PRETENDING TO GIVE A FUCK IS BORING AND YOU FUCKING KNOW IT. I HAVEN'T HEARD THIS ALBUM BUT I KNOW ITS FUCKING AMAZING BECAUSE HE CAN SAY "I WILL" AND YOU FUCKING KNOW HE WILL, HE FUCKING MEANS THAT SHIT LIKE YOUVE NEVER MEANT ANYTHING IN YOUR FUCKING LIFE. YOU NEED TO GET A FUCKING LIFE AND LEARN HOW TO APPRECIATE THAT LIFE ONCE YOU GET IT WITH A FUCKING STRUM AND SING YOUR FUCKING HEART OUT LIKE MUMFORD.

I was referring to Brent DiCrescenzo's (and others) style of sometimes just going balls-out scathing because he dislikes the act so much. Over-the-top, comedic, [sometimes] intellectual, often thematic, and occasionally amazing. Unlike M&S.

Yawn..... deeply, deeply boring and unfunny rant. If you going to peddle this moronic dross then at least stick to the subject matter. I remember when this site used to be decent - time to bookmark Stool Pigeon I think...

Mr Agreeable states, "... conditions have deteriorated to the f***ing point where f***ing Mumford And Sons can get to reach Number f***ing one on both sides of the f***ing Atlantic ..."

He then poses the question: "Who buys this septic f***ing horseshit?" & then goes on to say "Scrape all that dried out mucus-excrescence away, however, and what you're actually left with is, of all things, f***ing U2."

If, as a reviewer, you're going to pretend you're clever by trying to reference Dante Alighieri, then don't bugger up the allegory by going off on some childish and over-exaggerated tangent of your own, or you just end up coming across like a complete cock.

Why on earth would you publish a review like that? The sentiment is fine, I agree with it even; but all those starred-out words... just unreadable. Either change your policy on swearing, or teach that c*** to write like a grown-up.

Your argument seems to be entirely based on the fact that their songs are about themselves? Where does it say this is the case? Did you ever stop to think that maybe you're just a self-obsessed, conceited prick who feels the need to feed their own massive ego by posting overly negative reviews of popular bands to seem 'cool' and 'soooo underground' to a bunch of people on the internet who you'll never meet? Please take your head out of your own ass before you end up turning yourself inside out.
Cheers.

Mr Agreeable's been trolling before those three billy goats gruff were even kids, and still people fall for it. Would it spoil the fun if I point out that the self-censorship is a parody of certain forms of journalism? It probably would.

As a semi-regular reader I have found this site to be a refreshing breath of fresh air in nuanced, intelligent music journalism.

So in reading this "review" I was extremely disappointed. I'm no fan of M&S but this isn't an album review, it's a poorly constructed rant that attempts to be "scathing" but comes across as "juvenile".

Is the Quietus now attempting to generate some extra traffic by stooping to the style of some of Pitchfork click-bait sensationalism?

If so, you will simply remove the point-of-difference which makes this site so attractive in the first place.

God knows they're an awful band, but this is pisspoor writing. As Sam W suggests, this is tantamount to staring down at a barrel full of fish and still managing to shoot yourself in the foot. The reasoning behind hating the band seems to have nothing to do with their appalling music and all to do with a fifth-form view of the world and who has the right to feel what and when. All reinforced with exclamation marks just in case we were in any doubt about when we should laugh. They're popular because they've found another variation on the magical musical sugary fatty appetite-trigger for all ages that equals a mass market, with a generous dose of Cameron-Boden soft-focus aspirational lifestyle that appeals to just the sort of people who'll but this record. And good luck to them, because they won't change. The whole premise of the article has been worn out long ago. But that would be fine. It's the shitty writing that gets me - the first-draft fifteen year-old godawfulness. 'Smegmaheads'? Christ. And the pop at the unknowing 'youth', who, poor dears, don't know they're being duped. First time I've read a Quietus article for ages, and I've remembered why I stopped.

This is the most disgusting, disrespectful piece of "music journalism" I have ever read, I've been in the Business for twenty years. So well done Quietus. These last two years the boys of Mumford & Sons have worked harder than any group I know. In these times it's hard to ensure the fanbase keeps going, to keep the group sustainable, earning the team behind the artists a decent living. I am pleased to report that in 2012(thanks to the US support) they have made more money than ever, folks are buying this product. Like it or not, it's not a matter of taste but of happiabilty, if the boys make people (mainly young kids 13-17 that can afford things, but also some older folks too) happy, then so what? The music is only music. If people pay, let them, we're only too happy to oblidge with more gigs and new downloads. Long live Mumford & Sons! Happy New Year!

Here's a weather report. Right now, we live in the torrents of a perma-shower and in such a world, conditions have deteriorated to the point where Mumford And Sons can get to reach Number one on both sides of the Atlantic, with their faux, "Golly, wouldn't it be jolly to be poor, capering around the junkyard wearing neckerchiefs and being authentic" chic. Who buys this? Presumably the same thought-averse smegmaheads who drool about "Boris" being a bloody great bloke who we should make bloody Prime Minister because it'd be a bloody laugh. Docile!
Well, here's their latest album. And I have to admit, I'm surprised. I imagined it would represent the listening equivalent of scraping around the tenth circle of Satan's own anus with a mandolin plectrum – but actually, it's more like the twentieth. It is a growth on the testicles of pop. It is a rancified perversion of all that has gone under the name of folk. It is an obscenity ten times the magnitude of a bunch of public school drunks stealing a busker's cap and instrument as he strums away on the underground, poncing off with it and making £200 in an hour from passers by with their strolling renditions of Ralph McTell's 'Streets Of London'.
The vocals we can deal with in a sentence. Remember the old man shouting "HaROLD!!!" in Steptoe and Son? That, only ten times more whiney and self-pityingly parasitic. As for the instrumental arrangements, well, poop as the countryside is, they make it sound even worse with their nostalgia-for-rickets stylings – a thousand county fairs from Hellhole-On-The-Wold rolled into one, with cowpat redolence of yokels shoving greased pigs down the hill or racing their ramshackle, unroadworthy vehicles round barns steering with their toes!
Scrape all that dried out mucus-excrescence away, however, and what you're actually left with is, of all things, U2. Basically, it's a piece of cake for any foursome of gormlessly ambitious morons to make a mint in this day and age – whack in a few tremulously morose verses, then crank it right up for the chorus with some vaguely anthemic resolution in which the words "I will" invariably figure. Exhibit A! 'Ghosts That We Knew'. "I will hold on with all my might / Just that we'll be all right." (Of course you'll be all right, you rich smegmaheads). Exhibit B! 'Hopeless Wanderer'. "I will call you by name / I will share your road." Oh, you'll agree to be seen in the street with me and address me by my name? Mighty big of you, banjo boy. Exhibit C! 'Holland Road'. "When I'm on my knees / I will still believe... If you'll still believe, I'll still believe". Exhibit D: 'I Will Wait'. They're constantly making out they're living in some hurricane ravaged shack on the edge of the woods and recasting their horniness as some sort of physical heroism! If we needed that, we'd listen to absolutely everything Bruce Springsteen has ever recorded!

This po-faced, gale force guff is meant to have us punching the air but all it makes you want to punch is their faces, followed by a low one to their corduroy-clad testicles! It's as empty as their bank accounts, monstrously, are not. "Let's live while you're young." What the else are we supposed to do when we're young? Die under a hail of custard pies packed with ball bearings, as we wish you would?
It looks bad when a bunch of already well-to-do, poor-people-parodying smegmaheads are what laughingly passes for "indie" in this benighted day and age. But you know what? Even the clothheaded, social network addled, tight trousered, bumfluffed faces who pass for Britain's youth are eventually gonna wake up to how they're being financially screwed over by that top-hatted onanface Cameron and his retinue of incompetent, anus-faced public school fags. And when they do, Mumford And Sons are gonna be the first people the baying mob goes after. First, they'll take the fat one, shave off his pubic obscenity of a g beard and stuff the clippings down his fatuous throat till he chokes. Then they'll take the rest of them and garrotte them one by one with their own banjo strings. In the name of all that's godly and decent and just, this has to happen! This afternoon! Do it! Cunts!

Mumford & Sons entertain. This 'rant' ia a ****! Choose your own four letter word...printable or not!
ps to those who say 'thankfully not heard them...well LISTEN and then judge. Don't just follow the un-literary writer of this ****!
xxxxxx

And the message is, if you want to make money from the music biz, make music for the people who still buy it. Which makes this review an attack on middle-aged, middle-class, middle-income, middling boring, middle england, middle people. Fair enough, I say!

Okay, I get it you don't like Mumford because they're another twee pretentious band. Big deal. They're not the first and they won't be the last. They won't bring down music.

So, what do you like? And can you articulate your analysis of what you deem 'good' so as you don't come off as just another stereotype that someone else can slag off in obvious and school ground crude terms as you have done?

By the way, in your less than witty rant you used disability abusive and homophobic terms. That marks down your cred mate. If you expect others like Mumford to live up to your pre-determined expectation, the least you can do is get close enough to a standard of basic decency and respect yourself.

"What do you like?" Easy, read the rest of the site. 99% of what we write is massively positive, giving space and oxygen to the artists that the cultural dominance of the sweaty arses of Mumfords et al suffocate out. Just look at our albums of 2012, albums of 2013 so far, or tracks of the year so far, and you will find MUCH JOY!

"What do you like?" Easy, read the rest of the site. 99% of what we write is massively positive, giving space and oxygen to the artists that the cultural dominance of the sweaty arses of Mumfords et al suffocate out. Just look at our albums of 2012, albums of 2013 so far, or tracks of the year so far, and you will find MUCH JOY!

A couple of years ago i interviewed an old mate who was just about to retire from running a major publishing company. I think it was around Christmas when the uk chart was mostly made up of children of rich people. I asked him why because this particular publishers was famous over the years for developing songwriter/performers. He simply replied " We have no budget for artiste development. Most of the majors are in the same boat and are having to look to rich people to fund such development and that means we have to accept their offspring, regardless of talent and ability in order to keep bringing new acts to the fore, even if most of them that walk through our doors have public school educations . I'm getting the fuck out as i can't stand the arrogant twats !"